A Writer's Blog

NEWS THERE WILL BE MUSIC!!! #epiphone #lespaul #guitar

4/17/2014

Music has played such a huge role in my life that I can't possible put into words what making music means to me. To have a new instrument fills me with excitement for the music that will be played and the good times that will be had through jams, playing out and recording with other musicians. I can't wait to hook this up to an amp!!
There will be music soon. Once the rig is set up, I'll record all of my music and upload it to the site. It will be for my readers to enjoy and hopefully spur others to upload music as well.

Have a great day!

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Welcome to all the new readers

4/17/2014

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There are a lot of new followers and I'd like to take this time to Welcome you to my website. You will find fiction to read (linked on the 'A Writer's Diary' Page) as well as indie music and art.

My page seeks to find and promote the best in indie art, with special focus on fiction with strong female characters. My latest writings center around my lead character, the serial killer Ella Thomas. Check out the stories and the *NEW* journal entry from this morning, called IT'S VEGAS.

I hope you enjoy your stay at my website and be sure to comment if something strikes your fancy. If you like the art posted, join my site to receive news on upcoming releases. The first release from Moran Publishing will be ELLA, the book to introduce the world to the serial killer living in my head!

Thanks again for stopping by my website. I hope you were entertained!

From Las Vegas,

Stephen John Moran

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LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF BERNADETTE CYNTHIA HEALY - episode 5 @duchessshire

4/16/2014

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LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT
OF BERNADETTE CYNTHIA HEALY
EPISODE FIVE

Another day, and another twenty four hours without doing anything about the Last Will and Testament. It's now Friday, which means I will have both Polly and Jack at my side tomorrow, giving me their views on that woman's final request.

I have no feelings left to give her any more. I will admit I was surprised, not just by the whole debacle she's created, but that she even bothered to get in contact with me. I suppose there is a tiny part of her that hasn't forgiven me for my own little favour that I asked of her all those years ago...


But surely one can't be that vindictive from beyond the grave?

Normally I spend my Friday's at the office. I travel on public transport to my Jonathon's second home, or rather his eventual second home. I suppose in the two decades that spanned my late husband's affair, her place would have been his second home.

I know that Keith is more than capable of running the entire firm, and my visits are a nuisance more than anything, but I do like to keep myself involved. I am the majority share-holder after all.

Today I want to go and visit someone who impacted my life. I hope that by seeing them I can answer some of the questions that have arisen since the letter and Last Will and Testament fell into my lap. Keith will be surprised that I haven't shown up and will no doubt worry about me. Though I don't really want to give him any cause for concern, there is a wicked side in me that wants to see him try and handle a change in his usually immaculate routine, so I neglect to inform him.

Nobody needs to know where I'm going, and I deign it my right to keep the visit a secret.

Though I do forget about Peter, the postman.

As I lock the front door, my back to the street, I hear my name being called. I turn and I can see that Peter is surprised by my early morning departure. Normally I like to surprise Keith and the rest of the office by arriving when they've all relaxed at around eleven, long after Peter has delivered the post.

'Off somewhere this morning Mrs. Davidson?' he asks and is more polite than he was the previous day.

'Just running some errands Peter. Are you feeling better than yesterday? You ran off without a word?' I want to give him a chance to explain himself, I do not tolerate rudeness.

'I am sorry about that Mrs. Davidson,' at least he has the decency to look sheepish, 'I didn't want to have to explain...' he gestures towards his rather mangled face, though a lot of the bruise is hidden behind his greasy hair.

'And today is different because...?' I trail off as Peter looks at the floor. I shouldn't have asked. I have enough to deal with than some teenage bullying, which is none of my business. 'If you don't want to tell me,' I start as the pause between my questions lengthens.

'No, it’s... I know I shouldn't be happy, but my dad didn't come home last night. Mum's worried sick, but I...' his pauses says more than his words ever could.

I look at him and I refuse to pity him, but I long for justice, as Jonathon taught me to. If his own father could do something like this to his son, then something needs to be done. Peter looks embarrassed and I hate that I've taken away some of his joy, even though it is ill-founded.

'Peter, unless something terrible has happened to your father, he will probably come home eventually. I have no idea what he's like, but I'm sure you can imagine what kind of mood he'll be in if he's not been home in two days. I want you to take this,' I can't just do nothing. 'It's the number of a friend of mine, a lawyer. He can and will help you and your mother if you want it. If you need it.'

Peter gives me my post as I hand him the business card for Keith. I return to my front door, having to unlock it to get rid of the morning's post that I do not want to have to take with me on my visit. I don't expect him to say anything and I don't want to have to explain anything more to him. He'd always been a slightly quiet child, and I knew he was a social pariah – his words, not mine – but I couldn't believe a father could lay a hand on his son, his own flesh and blood, and mutilate him in that way.

He leaves before I turn around in attempt to leave for the second time today. I hope I've done some good.

Public transport is somewhere between a blessing and a curse. I make the most of my free bus pass, even though I have a Jaguar parked at the back of the house. I think Keith last valued that small plot of land at something ridiculous like £600,000, just because of the location. House prices in London these days are astronomical. I am so glad Jonathon and I could help Polly and Jack when they were buying houses for the first time. To think my garage is now going for more than what I paid for my house when we bought it as newly-weds not long after the war!

I have always preferred public transport, though I was always happy to let Jonathon drive. Of course he had to buy British; nothing could have convinced him to buy one of the German models, though everyone was raving about them. In fact I think most people still are.

But yes, public transport. It gave me my freedom after the War and I always loved being able to watch people as we drove through the streets of London, and that past time hasn't changed.

However, the bus drivers are nowhere near as friendly as they used to be, and common decency, such as allowing the elderly to sit on a bus, seems to have vanished entirely. It's the little things that often I am unaware of, which catch me at the strangest moments and make me long for my husband.

Jonathon would never have let some young whippersnapper sit in a seat on the bus while I stood, and though I would have been embarrassed, of course I would have been touched by the simple act of respect he showed me.

Never mind that he'd had an affair for twenty-one years.

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best #got video ever- the best of king joffrey

4/16/2014

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SWA FLIGHT ATTENDANT DOING A COMEDY ROUTINE

4/16/2014

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this is truly funny, reminds me of the Carlin bit about Flight Attendants.

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entry from Ella's Journal - the blues

4/15/2014

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entry from Ella's Journal

blues in the morning

the steam from the bath clears my mind and the calmness of Miles Davis keeps me from dwelling on thoughts of last night and how I ran screaming from the tourists in search of sanity and solitude.

In moments of reflection, I wonder if I can tolerate this city for another minute. nobody is from here, nobody gives a shit if you live or die--- just, did you place your bet? the endless drumbeat of eat, drink, gamble, sex rinse repeat...some days i must stop the merry-go-round and sit.

the trumpet plays in my head, dancing and swirling with the picture memories of last evening. Miles Davis soloing his way though the lobby of the Bellagio, like a one-man New Orleans parade for Mardi Gras. The piano placing notes like bricks of a foundation for the leads to dance atop of all while the quiet buzzing of the snare makes me tap a beat with my finger against the glass wall.

but, my mood continues to worsen. I don't feel right inside today. Can i be alone? can i simply drift away into myself and not return? what compels me to open my eyes and force interaction with the outside world?

then i think that somewhere in this city a drunk man is hurting a woman...and I feel cold spread in my stomach.

i can't stay in the bath all day. so much needs to be done. i'll just lay here with my eyes closed until Miles finishes making changes to my soul.

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Support broken in the nasdaq #finance #cnbc

4/15/2014

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Support has been broken as can be seen by this chart of the Nasdaq Index. If this breach isn't reversed in the next few trading sessions, it will lead to more selling.

Reason I watch the Nasdaq Stock index? Some of the best American tech companies are located on this exchange. Google, Apple and Microsoft. If this Exchange starts to sell off, it can't be a good thing for the economy. It's something to watch.

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The Painting is here! Cover Reveal for Ella @mygallerie72

4/14/2014

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So excited to present the Painting for the cover of Ella. Let me know what you think!

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REVISED Fiction-- Shakespeare, Dickens and The Bible

4/14/2014

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SHAKESPEARE, DICKENS, AND THE BIBLE

            I always knew I would do it. It was destined. From the moment I laid down on her couch I knew what would happen.

            The state committed me because of my many problems. I was sent for four long, excruciating months, to stay at The Animal Farm Psychiatric Treatment Center. Maybe it was four years, I don't remember.

The male nurse led me down a long gray hallway and told me about the woman shrink I was going to meet. When the nurse opened the door to her office I was in for a shock. Or maybe the shocks came later. I don't remember.

            I do remember her sitting beautiful behind her cheap wooden desk. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders, down onto the swell of her breasts. Her dark brown eyes beamed, as did her face, all a glow in self-health. She looked up at me, our eyes meeting and I fell in love before she said a word.

            "Hello," she said. “My name is Katherine. You may call me Kate."

            "Call me Burt," I said.

"Burt?" she asked.

            "Sure."

            After we had our names straight she told me to sit on the couch, so I did. It was a plain black couch, nothing special to look at. The ceiling was far more interesting. I traced over the cracks in my mind to make shapes that didn't mean anything. Then she started asking me questions, private type questions that I didn't intend to answer. So I didn't.

            It took about six weeks for something to happen. At first I sat on her black, plain couch watching her body, waiting for the sessions to be over. I was eager to get back to my drugs. She had to dig for every response from me.

            During one session she told me that I was the most interesting patient she had ever counseled. I wasn't sure how to take that. I guess it could have been a compliment, but I took it as an insult. I asked her what she meant, but she didn't answer, she just smiled.

Her smile drove me crazy and she knew it. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever known. I wasted away most of my sessions memorizing her face.

            In one session she wore a tight mini-skirt with a matching tight black blouse, with black stockings and high heeled shoes. She was the picture of my fantasy, the one I had described to her in many previous sessions.

            She sat close without touching me. I felt a terrible tingling sensation in my groin that begged to be heard. I tried to get up, but she held me down with her painted fingernails, gently digging them into my chest. She caressed my chest with thin, delicate hands.

            "Just stay still."

That was all she said. Her voice seemed out of place, lost in space somehow. The session ended and within days I was released.

            Four months had passed, maybe four years, and I was out. The real world flashed before me. I would have to fend for myself. The men that pushed me out the door cited budget cuts.

I didn't understand. How could they let someone like me out? I tried to see Kate, but they wouldn't let me in. They shut the gray painted steel doors, slammed them in my face. Those asshole attendants in their fucking white uniforms.

Who the fuck did they think they were? They were keeping me from my drugs, my ping pong tables, and my therapy sessions with Katherine. I felt like screaming.

            "Die," I yelled at the face plastered in the barred window of the main office. With that I went, tripping down the stairs.

            Several weeks later I ran into Katherine at Waldenbooks. I happened to be browsing over a rack of classics when I saw her.

            She looked radiant, wearing a simple sweater and black slacks with flats. Smiling at me, she offered a little wave.

"Hello," I said.

            "I didn't think Dickens was your style," she said. "I figured you more for a Dr. Seuss type of man."

            My face went red and looked down to see Great Expectations in my hands.

"Maybe I am trying to broaden my horizons. What's it to you?"

            "Start with something more your level. I suggest a Hardy Boys book.”

            "Which series? There are several sets." I was happy, she looked flushed.

            "I'm sorry.”

            "Stuff it." I smiled upon my victory.

"Would you like to have a drink?" she asked.

            "I don’t know."

            "Come on. We'll chat about old times.”

            "Just one drink," I said. "And it has to be at my place."

            "That's better," she said.

I bought the book. The fact that I already owned several copies didn't deter me from spending money in an attempt to continue my little game with Kitty. It was worth the five dollars. After all, there is Shakespeare, Dickens and the Bible. The rest is shit.

            I sucked down my third shot of vodka while Kate nursed her scotch. Not a drink for a woman. I thumbed through my book while she took my place in. Not a bad little rat-hole. There were only three rooms, but quite large rooms.

            I poured another shot and joined her on the couch. She looked nervous and kept picking at the hem of her dress. I always have wondered what she thought was going to happen. I gulped down my vodka, which brought tears to my eyes, and slammed the glass down on the coffee table.

            I was feeling a decent buzz when I sat next to her. I put my hand on her leg, figuring it would be turned away, but it wasn't. She didn't move. Not until I finished. Perhaps she enjoyed it, but I doubt it.

She asked if she could go to the bathroom. I didn't know whether she would try to leave or not, but I figured I'd let her go. I knew I didn't want to have a bladder full when I died.

            Then she came back. I don't know why she came back. She knew my record better than anyone. The faces, the names...it was probably all in her head. I had killed so many people though, that I had given up remembering.

After she sat down again I almost didn't do it. I felt terrible, like it was too easy. I almost told her to leave. I really liked her, but I couldn't control myself.

My arms started to move, she started to scream and there was blood.

More blood than I had ever seen.

I tore pages from the book and stuffed them into her mouth until no more would fit. Then I knew she was dead. I also knew that I would need another Great Expectations.

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The Morning News- #equality in #Ohio, #GoT, and writing news #MondayBlogs

4/14/2014

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First, there is breaking news on #equalmarriage out of Ohio

It's official: Federal judge rules in favor of #marriage in #Ohio. Retweet to celebrate! http://t.co/O5k3NpY4Qn pic.twitter.com/Be2ruuBpnp
— freedomtomarry (@freedomtomarry) April 14, 2014

On the Minimum Wage front, a provocative article at THE NATION asks, What if the minimum wage was 15 dollars an hour? It's a good article and worth the read.

In entertainment news, The Game of Thrones spawned hashtag #purplewedding for last night's episode trended into the wee hours and is still in the current top ten US Trends. If you are a fan of the show, I don't need to tell you to watch the episode again, because I know you already have...most likely several times. Simply entrancing television.

Last-- I hope to have cover news in the next few days. The anticipation is building and I am getting more exciting by the day.

Hope your day is productive,

from vegas

Stephen John Moran

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Forward>>

NEWS THERE WILL BE MUSIC!!! #epiphone #lespaul #guitar

Welcome to all the new readers

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF BERNADETTE CYNTHIA HEALY - episode 5 @duchessshire

best #got video ever- the best of king joffrey

SWA FLIGHT ATTENDANT DOING A COMEDY ROUTINE

entry from Ella's Journal - the blues

Support broken in the nasdaq #finance #cnbc

The Painting is here! Cover Reveal for Ella @mygallerie72

REVISED Fiction-- Shakespeare, Dickens and The Bible

The Morning News- #equality in #Ohio, #GoT, and writing news #MondayBlogs

THE TERRORIST OF PROVIDENCE STREET

SERVER

EXCERPT FROM SERVER
DAY ADVENTURE WITH MONKEY

EXCERPT FROM SERVER
KARL MARX: A REFUTATION

EXCERPT FROM ELLA
ROUTINE

EXCERPT FROM ELLA
THE INTERROGATION

REVIEW OF ELLA

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